Ode to the Flogged Blog

It’s been sometime that my blog has not been fed. It’s complaining. It’s better than being mal fed. The fact is sometimes the blog is better unfed. I must tell you there is a sense of Déjà Vu in things these days. I guess the turmoil in the lives and times of two great men bring in that sense. The fact is, that though this is a familiar territory for some people, it just struck me last night of a similar experience.Yes, taking the relationships and its dynamics away from the mortals, which can become ever so complicated, the relationship with my ex-blog and me also started turning sour at the fag end of the abrupt end it had, which pretty much coincided with the termination of all things human with an I-Banker cum Ma(e)ch Engineer. The relationship was marred by the consistent randomness inside my head. The randomness that found no vent whatsoever. The blog rejected the randomness. Every time a post was forcefully injected into the blog, it fired up. Reacted. Puked. Suffered from severe content-poisoning. Then I thought it had to be taken to a consultant, a general (B)logician. Though I have worshiped the Greek Logicians Euclid, Aristotle, Plato to the most contemporary Bertrand Russell, I failed to get the logic here. Because logicians could be consulted with a mind that accepts logic. The cortex that refutes logic needs to be taken to a Blogician, that’s BEYOND-logician. Sounds like a magician, doesn’t it?I so wish it actually was a magician. Nothing worked. Somehow the blog started showing feminine traits. Had mood swings. The mood swings majorly resulted in the blog being so erratic, that it stopped posting on its own. The battle shifted to my head. The war sounds were heard, felt and internalized at the heart.
There was a huge amount of misunderstanding as well between me and my blog. And the fact that the blog speaks it’s own language to the world, I guess the world conceived me very differently. The world though is pretty much human, in thoughts and in action. It is just one human of the fairer species. So the blog and its mankind connection somehow started to snap. The signs were there. The blog would whisper in my dreams. I am going away from you. I being the random one couldn’t care less.It got worse with time. Came my final years. Mistrust. Lonely Roads. Mean Machines.I had to make the blog burn out than fade away.I don’t like the act of fading away. Though it gives the blog time to cope with the parted ways and a life afresh, it becomes increasingly difficult for the heart. Having internalized the pains of the war, it gives up.Having seen me through many times, god or bad, the blog deserved a proper farewell.But I didn’t give it. Poor thing died a sad death. I repent it though.
I miss my blog. The old glories. The glamor. The shine and sizzle.I hope the same doesn’t happen to you. Though there is a striking similarity between what happened in the early days of 2006, I am fairly confident that there is more effort this time. More pragmatism too. I guess saner individuals as well who can make it work.

Kuwait Diaries

And then we spent a month in this country. The fact is it hasn’t been the easiest of rides that we took. Though I don’t know when do I hit my mid life, with all the pressures and the loneliness of it all, I almost felt I am having a mid life crisis. The crisis manifested in the form of homelessness, work pressure, boredom and all that falls under the gambit of alien land blues. As A put it, amongst all the people who have gone through change, I have gone through it the maximum while I resist the least.

Through the past couple of days, the monster of miscommunication has not only plagued me and my fellow Egyptians here, it has taken a new dimension within my private life. And as a consultant I am to identify gaps in the current processes of communication and fill those up by communication process reengineering.

When you know, that you are made of words, by words and for words, it becomes increasingly difficult to understand the gaps therein. But then, when I look back, the early medium of communication was touch. Like Nicolas Cage dying to touch Meg Ryan in City of Angels. So it was touch. The feel of it all. Palms. Hands. Beyond.

The auditory means were avoided. You acted more on the physical level. Though what brings us together is the facilitative medium of languages. The more verbal ways of communicating. But the touch is missing. I miss it. One touch. Just One. Gap One.

Socrates and his theories have always dished out the best in logic. Speech follows logic. The lack of it is barking. Did we just bark? Sure we did. Gap Two

Expectations. Diktats. Proximity. Gibberish. Gaps Galore. What turns a Mashi-Fantasizing Mumbaikar, Trip-Spoiler Kolkatan, the wind beneath your sails into the creature that misses the carnal touch, who is losing the words that made him and barks?

Alien Land? Invisible Pink Unicorn?

Within you, I lose myself... Without you, I find myself craving to get lost again!

Talk like An Egyptian! ;) Sure they have influenced me.

The Bhery EG EGYPTIANS!

Insipid Emotions. Infertile Thoughts. Late night Moorings. The days are long. The nights are longer.

The nights are harder because we are scoffed being a part of the debauched bachelor species. We are alienated by people because of our ineptitude to have a trans-gulf battle of minds.

It’s been a long time we, that’s me n KP, haven’t been able to manage the lower rungs of Maslow’s hierarchy. The basic needs. Wants. Blah. (Hate me for being a marketing faffer now). The redlings of bluelands from the netherworlds of Mars have killed the desire to communicate amongst the earthlings. I wonder how I get my daily kicks in that. These very wiselings apparently gave our planet the Pharaohs, the Sphinx, the people from the other era apparently control your destiny which though is anyways attached to a million more strings. Yes, they are the Egyptians.

And you better dread every birth and rebirth, and wonder why did the phoenix arose out of the ashes, while you are inching closer to the revolutionary discussion you may have with them.. Because that’s how long it would take for Che to turn around the economy of the entire Copacabana beach and bring democracy to Cuba.

You see them on their asses with a mafia-like air around them which would of course be intoxicated with the Sheesha fume. So you maintain the basic etiquette of some distance between the Indian and Egyptian nose, not because your moral science teacher taught you when you didn’t know you are going to meet the citizens of Pyramidland, but because as u move perilously closer, the Extra mouth freshener that you might be chewing would pop out of your mouth and pop into the alien’s mouth.

Whoever said we could avoid the Indian stink when you get out of the country.

And just when you thought that you knew English better than Queen Victoria’s grandmother, you would say “English Maafi”. When you devour English down to the basic anatomy, and feel bad that this is the language you love so much, you would give it away to the non-English speaking breed. But still, this urge to be a superman and take the world and its grandmother is strong. So, its more like rape. When you can’t resist it you might as well enjoy it. I have started loving the conversations as much as the Egyptian lemon. Pretty much in love with them.

So with Nicolai Machiavellian flair, I have basically been ruling many a conversations these days. Official spokesman I have become.

To A, here’s a post that’s basic. For a change, I didn’t sit with my lexicon ;) .

That’s dictionary BTW. ;)

Pre- Alien Land Woes

So I toiled through my drudgery in a PSU-like unit, which proudly claims itself as NIT. Yes, it’s the institute of national (un)importance.

It apparently belts out engineers from the land that till yesterday was preaching tribalism. Fissures appeared in a monolithic state and the world and its grandmother doffed it’s hat for all the “Sable Badhiyas”.

Till today I am ( or perhaps was ) proud to belong to this unit and beyond.

The trouble started brewing with the plans of joining a risk-consultancy in an alien land. The consultancy’s first faux pas was to take an uncalculated risk of hiring a not so lesser mortal like me. Then there were more risks involved with the denizens of this netherworld to go through the Sarkari hierarchies to be a part of the elite consultants on foreign shores.

The point is that the University of the Same Institute (yeah that’s how MS-Word turns it into, definitely not the name of the university ;)) which very reluctantly gave me the certificates I needed has already achieved eminence for being the crown-prince of all the losers by setting the worst benchmarks of all time. Having achieved that feat conspicuously, the institute is willing to do a comparable job in pushing people for a Japanese forte called hara-kiri.

Through the circuitous ways of their life am still valiantly surviving the ordeal of getting a, what we call in our world, signature. Much to my chagrin, the work never gets completed. For a long while I thought that “Mind Fucked” was in the unlimited vocabulary of my better half. It ceases to amaze me at the Recency-Frequency-Decency-Blahcy of the usage of the same term at my end. The downgrades from the pleasing to plebeian ways of mine have not been very smooth either. Neither do I particularly appreciate it. Never at my clairvoyant best would I have thought of an existence like this.

For all these saturnine days because of the asinine slovenly B@s-Turds at the institute am mind fucked.

For the road to the legendry kingdom of El Dorado which is paved with obnoxious dickheads, am resplendently ready.

For all those who empathize with my feelings, my gratitude and those who don’t, I don’t care.

For all those people who have invited expletives enough from my side to deserve the hottest furnace in hell, I can’t find what the French call Mot Juste.

Speaking of French, I just recalled that I learnt German. Ich spreche Deutsche. The German air force and one of my quizzing roomies’ team was called Luftwaffe. They should perhaps obliterate the above mentioned species.

May the force be with me.

Adios.

Completely Ignorant Comments

First Documentation. Complete Ignorance.

That’s how the world’s supposed to react to me. I like it. Completely oblivious of the crappy existence of a lesser mortal. Boy! Do I love it or what!!

It’s nice to see the wicked ways of our existence. The anonymous ways of trying to touch the world at large is good. The ways that we all love-hate in our own respective ways. The way we react or comment. But the comments don’t always turn into critics. Or do they? Is it preferable if the comment has a critic’s tone in it? Is it also preferable that the comment also ends up with a word of appreciation?

Somehow the whole concept of anonymous writing forms a perfect ouroboros of arguments, ideas and concoction. Being argumentatively democratic that we are, it certainly supports a platform. A platform that is full of little gems as pieces written by authors of all sorts. Gives us a neat insight. With age and time, some pieces also stab the rich variety of pseudo-intellectualism that sometimes exist on various young campuses. We don’t expect a septuagenarian to comment on the youth’s blog. That would mean a critic. He may pass off the piece in his wave of social satire as completely flaccid. We want genuine comments. People can easily comment from the blog’s style of writing to the very content of it. A crisp good comment is always appreciated. An accurate demurral is invited. A remonstration is expected. And of course, at the heights of perversion, a lass’s blog is peppered with goody-good comments from losers of the first order.

Comments Anyone?

Not that I give a damn, but just in case…

New Beginings

A gestalt of pulchritude, passion and pessimism emerged out of the ashes. The name signified Invincibility.

Inspired me to revive and rejuvenate the long dead art of wielding my pen. To make it more contemporary, pressing my keys :). And Sweetness sure knows the right keys. Some wrong ones too ;).

Things have been highly atypical, multifarious and surely divergent from mine. It’s another form of gratitude that I feel. I also feel pleased to have unraveled the thoughts and mind-processes of Invincible Sweetness suffering from tapestry of incoherence.

Though the sphere of communication largely remains in the real dumsweet existence, which feels surreal as it approaches a month, it’s the same invincible pursuits that inspired me to connect to the world at large.

Was I safe, tucked away, consigned to obscurity? Is this another sweet effort to illuminate the chimera? Have I really gotten back to the olden days? Has the shimmer and sparkle gone away? Do I still have refracted thoughts? What’s the story? Morning Glory?

With some positive notes, thoughts and expected positive answers, of the aforementioned line of thoughts and questions, a heartfelt thanks to Sweetness.

Cheers to your Invincibility. May the force be with us.

P.S: - Dumsweet is not inspired from Dimwit.